


Good Men Get Better With Age

by Haliwr



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Angst, Dreams, Falsettos - Freeform, Fluff and Angst, Magical Realism, Songfic, Tears, What would I do?, either way, except it sort of is, this is not a happy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:27:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25852834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haliwr/pseuds/Haliwr
Summary: Paul McCartney fell asleep on the 8th December 1980.He certainly did not expect to wake up nearly twenty years prior.(Songfic for What Would I Do? from Falsettoland)
Relationships: Gay if you Squint - Relationship, John Lennon & Paul McCartney, John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 8
Kudos: 41





	Good Men Get Better With Age

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing for this fandom and the bar is astronomically high in here, so I shall do my best to keep up. Inspired by Marvin and Whizzer because I think their similarities to McLennon are far greater than they have any right to be.

_'What would I do if I had not met you?  
Who would I blame my life on?'_

On a cold, dark night, in the middle of nowhere, Scotland, a man closed the bedroom door with a sigh. Toeing off his slippers and stripping down to just his t-shirt and briefs, he quietly slipped into bed behind his wife and closed his eyes, carding his hands through the blond hair in front of him as he drifted off to sleep.

When he opened his eyes, he found himself rather alarmed to discover the same head of hair had mysteriously changed to a shade of auburn in the night.

Propping himself up on one elbow, he peered down at his bed mate, eyes widening as he registered quite possibly the last person he expected to see in his bed in Scotland. Though, perhaps that was understandable, given that he wasn’t really in his bed in Scotland anymore.

_'Once I was told that all men get what they deserve  
Who the hell then threw this curve?'_

“J-John? Is this some sort of joke? Get up, you wanker”

What the hell was going on? Where was Linda? And why on God’s earth was John bleeding Lennon in his bed? Squeezing his eyes shut and taking a deep breath, Paul sat up and looked around. Okay, definitely not his bedroom. Familiar though. Whose-?

“Paul? What are you harping on about? It’s too early for this, Christ…”

Paul’s head whipped around at the voice, staring. But, John was in New York, right? Why was he here now? Come to think of it, where was here, exactly? Rubbing at his eyes slightly, Paul focused on the, well, _boy_ beside him, reaching for his decidedly un-circular glasses. Christ, but he looked young, didn’t he? Some of the life seemed to have returned to his plump features, and his wrinkles had all but disappeared. Almost as if-

A resigned sigh rang out from beside him. “Well, aren’t you going to wish me a happy birthday? Big number yknow, 21 and all. Or so they say”

_'There are no answers  
But who would I be if you had not been my friend?'_

It hit him like a stick to a cymbal then. Their hotel room in Paris! That’s why the place was so eerily familiar. Pauls thoughts came to a halt there. Last time he’d checked, it had been December 1980, not the middle of summer in ’61. Had he taken something? No, not for years now, nothing but pot. Fallen into a coma maybe? Time travelled? Stranger things had happened.

Beside him, John finally located his glasses and slipped them on with a grimace. Shooting a long glance at Paul, in sync with each others thoughts as if they were kids again, he answered the unspoken question,

“This isn’t real yknow? You’re dreaming. Me too I’d assume. Isn’t that weird? Sharing dreams, sounds terribly queer” 

_'You're the only one, one out of a thousand others  
Only one my child would allow  
When I'm having fun, you're the one I want to talk to  
Where have you been? Where are you now?'_

“Right. Yeah, right okay. Weird”

What was a person supposed to say in a situation like this? There wasn’t exactly a common precedent for finding yourself sharing a dream with your old best mate.  
“How’s things over yonder?” Paul asked, regretting the question as soon as it left his mouth but desperately needing to relieve the tense atmosphere.

John seemed to humor him though, answering “Fine, yeah. I’m alright, Yoko and Sean are fine,” he paused, stretching slightly before standing up and approaching the tiny window opposing the bed, continuing in a whimsical tone “we were just talking about you last night yknow? Me and Sean I mean. No clue how we got onto the subject to be honest, think he was curious who I was calling so bleeding early in the morning.”

Paul chuckled slightly. Truth be told, he couldn’t be more relieved that John and he were on speaking terms again; even if they weren’t writing, spending so much time away from his partner had made him feel sort of… floaty, as though he wasn’t all there. Like pot on an empty stomach and no sleep, he mused. 

_'Who would I be if I had not loved you?  
How would I know what love is?  
Good only knows too soon I'll remember your faults  
Meanwhile, though it's tears and schmaltz'_

He wondered idly if John had felt the same through all this time. Probably not. They had been worlds apart after all, in every sense of the thing. John had Yoko, with her razor edges and her head full of sky and everything Paul wasn’t. Sure, he had Linda, lovely Linda with her lovely smile and her lovely grasp keeping him from floating away but it just wasn’t the same, was it? It wasn’t her he was sharing dreams with, was it?

Really, the long and short of it was that he and John were a pair, two parts of a whole, nerk twins. A left brain without a right is just a slab of meat on an autopsy table, and these past few years he had never felt more brain dead. His shrink would have a field day with that one, he acknowledged, but that was fine. He was allowed to be a little attached to his… his John. It was fine. 

_'There are no answers  
But what would I do if you had not been my friend?'_

“Stop thinking so heavily, you’ll grow yourself a tumor”

Paul’s eyes snapped away from Johns figure by the window, unaware he had even been staring. He felt heat creeping up his neck and cheeks, and had to take a deep breath to steady himself which was, absolutely ridiculous. He was a grown man for gods sake, he was past bursting into tears from embarrassment. This whole dream thing was messing with his head.

He forced himself to look up into the hazel eyes boring into him, dreading what he might see there, anger or resentment or worst of all nothing at all, the severing of an emotional cord that had left him flailing for so long. He certainly wasn’t expecting such a layer of sympathy there, accompanied by a bitter pang of defeat and- was that regret?

He understands, Paul suddenly realised. They were in sync again, the cogs turning, the pieces put together. A small smile overcame the other man, in response to the surprise and relief Paul was sure must have painted his own features.

“There you are,” John muttered, “my Macca.” 

_'All your life you wanted men, and when you got it up to have them  
Who knew it could end your life?  
I left my kid, I left my wife'_

After that, they didn’t need to use such pointless things as words. What they shared had always been above the petty things, anyway – an undefinable vacuum of JohnandPaul that no one else could ever really hope to understand.  
So Paul, taking his lead from John as he always had, slipped out of the bed and silently joined his partner by the window. Idly, he noticed he was wearing a sleep shirt he hadn’t seen in years. So he was in his younger body again too. Interesting.

The pair stared down at the early morning Parisian streets sprawling before them, each drinking in the moment. Paul felt John move slightly to lace their hands together, and in that very instant he had never felt as at peace with- well, everything. Fuck Yoko, fuck Linda and the kids and the families and friends, nothing and no-one else in either of their tiny lives could ever come close to the sense of one-ness rushing through his veins right then. Paul didn’t even have to look at Johns face to know he was thinking the exact same. 

_'To be with you; to be insulted by such handsome man  
Do you regret? I'd do it again,  
I'd like to believe that I'd do it again and again, and again'_

Realistically, Paul knew that even if he had wanted to, there would be nothing to change between the two of them. Everything had played out exactly as it should, the John and Paul show had run its course, and all at once a sense of crushing finality overcame the younger. He couldn’t quite explain why of course, he had no way of knowing what was to come, but some part of him was sure he had to treasure this very moment, to stretch it into a thousand and remember it forever.

He squeezed the hand held gently in his own, and felt a squeeze back. Yeah, this was good.

_'And what more can I say  
How am I to face tomorrow  
After being screwed out off today'_

Many moments had past like that, in that stillness, before Paul began to feel a gentle light-headedness overcome him. Maybe he was waking up? The concept didn’t alarm him as much as he thought it should.

He turned to face John, his partner, his friend, his love, and saw the other man was staring right back at him. Their eye contact revealed nothing but understanding and pure, unfiltered adoration and, as one, they turned back to the bed. They eased eachother under the covers still holding hands, which proved to be a mean feat that left both giggling.

Still smiling slightly, Paul pulled John further into him, resting his head atop of his partners and just enjoying his presence, just for a moment longer. He felt rather than heard John sigh gently against his neck and knew, quietly, that all was well.

_'Tell me what's in store  
Yes, I'd beg or steal or borrow  
If I could hold you for one hour more'_

Overflowing with contentment as the drowsiness finally caught up to him, Paul closed his eyes and muttered a quiet “Goodbye, John” against the others hair.  
The last thing he was aware of in this surreal dreamscape was the feeling of a small kiss being pressed to his jaw and a hoarse, “Goodbye Paul” carrying him off into the empty.

_'What would I do if I had not seen you?  
Who would I feast my eyes on?  
Once I was told that good men get better with age_

__

__

_We're just gonna skip that stage'_

On a cold, dark morning, on the 9th December 1980, a man opened his eyes with a sigh. The phone was ringing in the next room over.

 _'There are no answers_  
But what would I do  
If you had not been my friend?' 

**Author's Note:**

> My working title was "Made myself CRY because I'm COOL B)" but I wrote this at 3am, so perhaps my emotional capacity was a little biased.


End file.
